Marrying the Master (7 page)

Of
course she was to sleep in the spare room. Had she really allowed herself to
become so unrealistic? From one kiss and a cab ride?

“Roman,”
she said, and he stopped in midstride to give her his full attention. He looked
like a Catalonian god, standing tall and polished in the late afternoon light.
“About…”

“Yes?”

She
couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say “the kiss.”

“About
being…convincing. How are we going to convince the club?”

Roman
cocked his head, a slight smile on his face. The bastard! He wasn’t affected at
all. It was like that kiss hadn’t done anything to him. It was incredibly
unfair. Worse, it was humiliating.

“You
have been a submissive before,” he said. “I am sure you will know what to do.”

Lola
felt her cheeks reddening. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that it’s kind of
a huge deal, and if we pretend it’s not a huge deal, everyone will wonder
what’s up. We have to actually
tell
people. Make an announcement or something. A big show of it.”

He
smiled. “Come out of the closet?”

“Yes.”

Roman
laughed, sprawling his muscular body on the couch. “You truly think they will
believe it, just like that?”

How
could anyone believe he would be with her? Lola bristled at the insult,
secretly grateful to have something to focus on other than the magnetic pull of
Roman’s body. That sealed it. She would do whatever she had to do to get Roman
to take her seriously. To make sure that he was
affected
. That she wasn’t the only one who had to endure this
torture of pretending to have the man she’d always wanted and yet not really
having him. She had a few tricks up her sleeve. She could make him suffer, too.

“I’ll
make
them believe it,” she said.

Roman
Casta had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

Roman
enjoyed gambling. Perhaps that explained what he was about to do.

Perhaps
that explained what he had already done.

Roman
made his way through the private hall that connected his apartment with Club
Volare with laser focus, his well-developed muscles twitching angrily under his
tailored suit, his whole body screaming at him that he was moving in exactly
the wrong direction—away from Lola. His whole being was pulled taught in
anticipation, waiting. There was much to do.
Much to take
care of.

As
soon as he’d kissed her, he’d known: he had to have her. He must, or he would
lose his mind.

His
conscience said otherwise, and the tension between his conscience and his cock
had stretched him to the breaking point. The compromise was this: he would have
her,
if he were convinced it would not harm her.
If it would help her.

He
repeated the mantra to himself and growled involuntarily. A man didn’t need to
repeat things that he was sure of. But he damn well needed to be sure of this.

He’d
only meant to test himself when he’d kissed Lola in the hallway at the city
clerk’s office, a test of the sorts of things they’d have to do many times in
public,
a
test he had been confident of passing. And
he
had
passed, but barely. It had
taken every ounce of self control he had not to take her there and then, and
he’d only bought himself time by promising himself he’d have her later. What
insanity was that?

She
was Lola. His Lola. His charge.
Chance’s cousin, his family.

But there was no point in going over the arguments again in
his mind; no point in rehashing all of the reasons why this was a terrible
thing.
It changed
nothing. It meant nothing, not in the face of what happened when he touched
her. It had been instant fire, his higher self burned away, leaving behind
something animal. He hadn’t felt lust like that since Samantha.

Whatever
this was between them
needed to be dealt
with, before
it did real damage, before it threatened their plan to save Volare.

And
tonight was the first part of that plan. Tonight, they would have to convince
the Volare membership that their relationship was real. It would at least be no
challenge to convince them that he wanted her. How he was to determine whether
Lola could manage a physical relationship with him… He stopped suddenly; even
now the reality of that, of what he contemplated, shocked him. He would never,
ever forgive himself if he took her and in the morning she regretted it.
Or worse, if she was hurt by it.
Damaged.

She had already been hurt by her last Dom
.
Her only Dom, as
far as Roman knew.

The
thought of Lola, brokenhearted and humiliated when she’d discovered Benjamin
with his ex-wife, brought Roman up short. Lola had actually cried in his
office.
Lola had cried.
The memory of
it made Roman feel dangerous. He had wanted to punish Benjamin many, many
times, but Lola only wanted to forget. For all her worldliness, she was also,
in her way, an innocent: she truly believed the best of people. It wasn’t in
her to understand why someone would lie like that.

And
Roman wouldn’t lie to her, not about something like that. That was one
encouraging fact: if there was any woman alive who already knew of Roman’s
rules involving physical relationships, it was Lola Theroux. She was, in fact,
the only woman who knew the reason for them. She knew about Samantha. He could
be confident that Lola, at least, would not expect more than what he could
give.

Then
why did it still feel like a gamble?

Mother
of God, was he really considering this?

“Thank
you, Roman, for offering another Casino Night,” Sheikh Bashir said, rising from
the chair where he’d been waiting in Roman’s office. He extended his hand. The
two men hadn’t seen each other since Roman had interviewed the Sheikh as he
spanked the woman who would later become his fiancée—and was one of
Lola’s best friends—during a Volare BDSM brunch. That had been months
ago. “Stella loved the one we had for our engagement party, and she is
delighted that it should become a regular feature.”

“I’m
sorry I couldn’t attend that engagement party, but I have promised Stella, on
pain of death, that I
will
be at the
wedding,” Roman said smiling.

Bashir
smiled back. It seemed a particularly knowing smile. “Ah, yes. My fiancée is
currently helping your fiancée ‘get ready?’”

Roman
frowned. “You know?”

“I’m
afraid there are few secrets between women, and few people are able to hide
things from me. Stella no longer even tries,”
Bashir
said, returning to his seat. “You have my discretion, of course.”

“Of
course.” That made at least four people, aside from himself, Lola, and Ford,
who knew. At least Roman was confident in Jake and Catie, and in Stella and
Bashir—but circles of trust
grew
weaker as they
grew bigger.

“In
that case, Bashir, we plan to announce our ‘relationship’ at tonight’s event.
Since you are one of the nominal hosts, perhaps you can help us with any
credibility problems?”

“You’re
joking,” Bashir said, then looked hard at Roman. Bashir laughed. “You’re not? I
don’t think that you’ll have any problems with that, Roman.”

Roman
thought about Lola’s body crushed against his, and his cock began to throb.
“Even so.”

“Of
course. So why did you ask me here?”

Ah.
The question at hand.
He’d meant to discuss this with
Lola, but recent events had gotten in the way. And now, because of Lola, those
plans might have to change.

Roman
leaned forward. “I want to talk about another Volare location.”

The
two men settled into the comfortable realm of business, but Roman was on
automatic. He kept thinking about Lola’s words: “I’ll
make
them believe it.”

What
could she have meant by that?

~ * ~ * ~

“Something
happened, I can tell,” Stella said over the mountain of clothing she held in
her arms. “Out with it.”

“Nothing
happened,” Lola lied. “Thank you so much for bringing my clothes. I’m over
here.”

Lola
mentally crossed her fingers as she led Stella through Roman’s sun-soaked
apartment to her designated spare room, hoping against hope that her friend
would buy it.

 
“Yeah, what’s with the ‘I can’t leave the
apartment’ thing?” Stella said behind her.

Lola
cringed, walking ahead and opening the door to the walk in closet, and then
went back for the suitcases they’d left by the door.

“It’s
not so much that I
can’t
, it’s more
that Roman doesn’t want me getting mobbed,” she said over her shoulder. “He
didn’t want me accosted by reporters again, at least until we’ve figured the
whole thing out. And, frankly, I’m freaked out after that scrum this morning,
so I agreed. Temporarily.”

Stella
waited until her friend came back lugging the suitcases just so Lola could see
the raised eyebrow. “Roman doesn’t want you getting mobbed?”

Lola
smiled involuntarily. Why was she smiling? It was ridiculous. She should not be
smiling about this. “You should have seen him while we were getting the
marriage license. It was like that scene from
The Bodyguard
, only…all Roman-like. It was actually kind of sweet.”

“Really?”
Stella was grinning.

“Protective.
And sweet. He’s getting me a security detail if it keeps up.”

“Are
you going to tell me what actually happened?”

“No.”

Stella
harrumphed. “Pick out your own dress, then,” she said.

“Fine,
he kissed me. Not a real kiss,” Lola added quickly, not wanting to look at her
friend. “It’s just, we have to be convincing, right? Ford keeps telling us
that. So we’ll have to do stuff like that in public. And I get that. It’s
just…”

Stella
was never fooled. Her eyes were sparkling. “How was it?”

“It
wasn’t real.”

“Oh,
bullcrap. It was
Roman
. The man
you’ve fantasized about for what, ten years? Almost?”

Lola
sighed, picking up a dry-cleaned sleeved dress and walking it into the generous
closet. “Oh, fine. Of course it was incredible. Of course it was…I don’t even
have words, Stella. I was floored.”

“And?”

“And
he
wasn’t
. He didn’t even seem
affected. Like, not even fazed. Just, you know, super-controlled Roman.”

Lola
joined Stella where she sat on the bed—what would be Lola’s bed now, for
however long; Lola’s huge, lonely bed—and let her friend put a comforting
arm around her.

“You
ok?” Stella asked.

Lola
looked at Stella’s hand on her shoulder: there it was, weighing down her
friend’s finger, the giant engagement ring. Stella must have developed entirely
new arm muscles to carry that thing around. She was getting married for real.
She had an engagement ring that actually meant something. Lola sighed.

“Well,
no, it freaking sucks, wanting him and having these feelings—feelings I’m
not even sure of, honestly—and knowing they won’t be returned. Look, it’s
confusing. He confused the hell out of me in Ford’s office. I knew it would
suck. Like, what did I think would happen when I agreed to this, right?
But
,” Lola added, drawing
herself
up, “One, Volare is my family and my responsibility.
And two, I am no pushover. I’m not going to just suffer in silence.”

“What
are you going to do?”

Lola
shrugged and picked up her favorite dress, a gossamer thin,
body
hugging green dream. “I’m going to show him what he’s missing. And if he
doesn’t want me…well, I’ll at least make sure he knows that other guys do.”

Stella
looked dubious. “You sure about this?”

“Well,
it’s not like it could get worse, right?” Lola said. “What do I have to lose?”

~ * ~ * ~

Roman
lazily flipped a poker chip through his fingers and watched the door, his face
expressionless as he watched the members of Volare come and go.

Only
one mattered, and she wasn’t here.

He
would wait.

Stella
Spencer’s Casino Night had become so popular it seemed it would become a new
Volare tradition. The central hall, a large room where most of their big events
were held, was crowded with Volare regulars mingling between the many
green-topped tables. Stella and Bashir themselves were dancing slowly, out of
time, oblivious to the world around them, to some rock/big band fusion group
that Stella had found in Brooklyn. Roman glanced at them and smiled. He doubted
those two saw anything but each other.